


Done with Hiding

by Magz (sparklepocalypse)



Category: Queer as Folk (US) RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 15:53:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4528140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparklepocalypse/pseuds/Magz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The same day Gale figured out that Randy was a little bit in love with him, Randy punched him in the face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Done with Hiding

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to everyone's support in writing this. Otherwise, it'd never have gotten done.

The same day Gale figured out that Randy was a little bit in love with him, Randy punched him in the face.

Randy and Gale exited the soundstage, horsing around and laughing. Each got a few playful jabs in to the other's sides as they headed for makeup. They broke apart at the stage door and exited one at a time, then Gale slung his arm around his co-star's shoulders.

"You know, in real life, Justin would never be able to hit Brian," Gale said matter-of-factly, spinning around to a song in his head and pulling Randy with him.

The blond man laughed and shrugged away from Gale. "How much coffee did you have?" he asked suspiciously, ducking to the side when the taller man reached for him again.

Gale smiled. "Enough to make it through shooting," he said. He made a loose fist and touched it to Randy's chin. "Justin couldn't take Brian."

"Oh yeah?" Randy asked, raising an eyebrow. "And how do you figure that?"

The taller man nodded. "It's simple. You can't hit me. And since Brian and Justin have bodies that are remarkably similar to ours..."

"I could totally kick your ass if I wanted to," the younger man stated with confidence.

"Yeah, right," Gale said with a shake of his head, taking Randy by the arm and pulling him toward the makeup trailer.

Randy pulled out of Gale's grasp. "What, you don't believe me?" he asked. "Don't make me hurt you, Harold."

"Prove it, then," Gale said, standing still in the middle of the parking lot. "Come on, Randy, let's see what you've got. I guarantee you won't hit me." He pulled out his wallet. "In fact, I've got fifty bucks that say you won't."

Randy's hand shot out, snatching at the money, but Gale raised his hand and held it overhead. The blond man jumped for it, to no avail. "I don't want to hit you, Gale," he said.

Gale shrugged and turned toward the makeup trailer. "Guess the fifty bucks are going back in my wallet then." He took three steps before Randy attacked him with jabbing fingers to his ribs. Squirming and trying to get away from his co-star's tickling hands, Gale laughed riotously and swatted at Randy. "Cut that out! I said hit me, not tickle me."

"Turn around and I'll stop," Randy said, not letting up for a minute.

"Alright, alright," Gale laughed. He turned to face Randy with a huge smile on his face.

That was when Randy punched him in the face and took his fifty bucks.

Gale was shocked. He pressed a hand to his cheek, where a bruise was forming on his cheekbone, his mouth open and his eyes wide. "Jesus Christ, Randy. If I'd known you wanted the money that badly, I would've given it to you."

It took Randy a minute to realize that he'd hit Gale, and was now holding a fifty-dollar bill. "Oh, God," he muttered. "Gale, I'm sorry, I didn't mean -- " He stepped closer. "Let me see. I didn't hurt you, did I?" he asked, pulling Gale's hand away from his face. He winced when he saw the bruise. "It needs ice. Come on."

"Randy -- "

"Come _on_ , Gale." Randy took him by the arm and half-dragged him to the makeup trailer, hoping they'd have a beverage cooler or something.

The trailer door swung open and Peter stepped out. "Gale? What happened?" he asked.

"I punched him," Randy said. He closed his eyes for a moment, then shoved the money into Gale's front right jeans pocket and took off across the lot to his car.

He came back five minutes later when he realized that he was still wearing makeup. He entered the trailer nervously, breathing out a sigh of relief when he found only crew looking back at him.

He wasn't so lucky, however, when he got to his own trailer. Upon opening the door, the sound of Gale's voice caused him to drop his keys and let out an undignified squeak of surprise. He whirled around and picked the keys up from between his feet, assuming a nonchalant pose after only a brief flustered moment. "Gale," he said. "Hi."

"Can I come in?" Gale asked, holding an ice pack to his cheekbone.

"Um... sure," Randy said, stepping aside to let Gale into the trailer. He closed the door behind them and shrugged out of his coat. "I'm... sorry, again," he said. "I shouldn't have hit you."

"Bull," the dark-haired man replied. "I baited you." He sat down in one of two chairs at the small table in the corner. "I know you didn't mean to do it."

"Let me see it," Randy said, taking a seat opposite Gale in the other chair. His eyes widened and he frowned when Gale drew the ice pack away. "God," he said. "It must hurt." He reached out to touch the bruise on Gale's face, then thought better of it.

"Makeup's gonna give me hell in the morning, trying to cover it up. I've had worse, though," Gale said. "I can barely feel it."

Randy's fingers extended and connected with the tender spot, brushing over it lightly. "I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing," Gale instructed.

"Okay, okay. I'm sor -- shit." Randy exhaled a laugh. His fingertips trailed down Gale's cheek, then withdrew.

Gale looked at Randy's hand, now resting on the table, then put the ice pack back on his cheek. "Movie night still on?" he asked.

Randy smiled. "Yeah."

 

Gale showed up at Randy's apartment building at 7 PM, with a black eye and pizza. A DVD box was in his free hand and a cigarette dangled from his lower lip. He shuffled the pizza and movie, pressing the buzzer.

"You're early," Randy said through the intercom by way of greeting. "Come on up."

The door swung open and Gale took a final drag, then dropped the cigarette and ground it out under his heel as he stepped into the building. He took the stairs two at a time on his way to Randy's fifth-floor apartment, nearly dropping the pizza once. He saved it from certain destruction, though, and knocked twice on Randy's apartment door.

The blond man opened it, smiled widely, and stepped back to let Gale in. "Make yourself comfortable," he said. "I have to dry my hair, and then I'll be ready." He smiled again and closed the door after Gale passed through it, then padded off to the bathroom on bare feet, playing with the waistband of his jeans.

"Not much of it to dry anymore, is there?" Gale asked. He set the pizza down on the coffee table, then took the DVD from the case and slipped it into the player. After turning on the television, he rounded the corner of the table again, plopping down gracelessly on the couch and flipping up the top of the pizza box.

Randy returned, his short-shorn hair completely dry. He sat down next to Gale and put his feet up, scratching his belly absently. "What are we watching?"

Gale hit play and tugged Randy over so that he was tucked under his arm. " _Velvet Goldmine_ ," he replied, lazily resting his cheek on the top of Randy's head.

The younger man coughed loudly. "There's a lot of gay sex in this," he said, clearing his throat. "Don't you get enough of that at work?"

"I heard it was good." Gale rubbed his cheek against Randy's hair. "And I'm pretty sure I'm desensitized to guys faking orgasms by now." He leaned forward and pulled a slice of pizza from the box. "Want a bite?" he asked, offering it to Randy.

Randy decided there wasn't anything abnormal about Gale hand-feeding him pizza, because at least once a week he humped the guy, faking pleasure like a champ, with just a cocksock between them. He opened his mouth and bit off the tip of the slice, licking his lips clean of any errant sauce. "Thanks," he said around the pizza. "It's good. Did you get it from that new place near your apartment?"

"Mm," Gale said, and took a bite of the slice. He offered it to Randy again, laughing when a little pizza sauce landed on the blond man's chin. He wiped it away with the pad of his thumb and held it in front of his co-star's mouth with a raised eyebrow.

Randy offered a quirked brow of his own, mirroring Gale's expression as he chewed. He swallowed his pizza and looked at the other man's thumb, then shrugged and took Gale's hand, licking the sauce off. Then, with a little, embarrassed smile, he released Gale's hand and turned his attention back to the television just as Jonathan Rhys Meyers fell backward in sequins and feathers, glitter falling all around him.

"You know you can suck better than that," Gale murmured below the sound of the movie.

"How do _you_ know?" Randy asked, taking the pizza from Gale's hand and biting a large chunk out of it. "You've never had the pleasure," he said around the food.

Gale took the slice from Randy's hand and set it back in the box, then leaned in and cupped the blond's cheek. "I heard somewhere that you can tell how well a guy can give a blowjob by how well he kisses." He didn't even wait until Randy had swallowed the pizza before leaning in and pressing his mouth to the blond's.

The fact that there was pizza in Randy's mouth didn't deter Gale from wiggling his tongue between the younger man's lips and brushing it gently over his. Randy swallowed the rest of his bite, then pushed a hand up through the back of Gale's hair and kissed him back, tongue swirling around the taller man's and teeth nipping as he licked and sucked at his lips.

One of them moaned, jerking them back to the present. Randy shoved gently away from Gale, panting lightly. He cleared his throat. "Um. What was that?"

"I don't know about you," Gale replied, "but when I was growing up, they called that a kiss." He yelped when Randy smacked him in the arm. "What?"

"That wasn't the kind of kiss that your average straight actor would give on his gay co-star when they're off set," Randy said, scratching his head self-consciously.

"The average straight actor wouldn't kiss his gay co-star on set, either," the dark-haired man countered, leaning in to kiss Randy again. He found himself stopped by a firm hand planted in his sternum. Gale looked down at Randy's hand on his chest, then returned his gaze to the blond's.

"I can't do this, Gale," the younger man said, regret evident in his tone. "I can't... be with you, and have it looming over our heads while we shoot the rest of the season. I..." he paused and swallowed. "I lo -- have feelings for you, but -- "

"I don't love you," Gale said, flinching when Randy did. "I mean -- that's not what I meant. Well, okay, it is what I meant, but I didn't mean to say it in that way. What I meant is -- right now, at this very moment, I don't love you in a romantic way. But I could. If you helped me."

"I'm sorry, Gale," Randy replied. "I can't sleep with you unless I _know_ that it'll be more than just a one-night stand. And since you're straight, or closeted, or -- I'm sorry," he said again.

As if synchronized, they turned toward the television and watched the rest of the movie in silence.

Gale wondered if he'd ever be able to look at Randy again without seeing the hurt in his eyes.

 

If Gale and Randy seemed like they were just going through the motions on set for a few days after movie night, nobody said anything. Everyone figured that they were feeling the pressure of long days and rigorous shooting schedules. Everyone figured that it'd blow over in a week or so.

Nobody figured that it might take months.

They'd been given a week off from shooting. Gale's black eye was a mere memory, and he was tired of tiptoeing around Randy and avoiding the fact that he might've fucked over their friendship by kissing him that night.

He found himself at Randy's apartment building, bearing pizza and a movie. He balanced the pizza box on one palm as he rang the buzzer with the other. Four times.

After the fifth try, he gave up with the realization that either Randy wasn't home, or he'd seen him coming up the street and had decided to avoid him. He climbed in his truck and went home. He ate pizza for the next three days.

On the fourth day, he called Peter.

_Hello?_

"Where's Randy?" he asked without preamble.

_Gale, what -- he didn't tell you?_

Obviously not. "Tell me what?"

_He's auditioning for a new play in New York. I can't believe he didn't tell you._

Gale's jaw dropped and his chest tightened. "Me neither. Maybe he was sidetracked by the shooting schedule," he offered. Why hadn't Randy mentioned it?

_I thought you two shared pretty much everything except a bed when you're off-screen._

So had Gale. He swallowed hard. "We did. Do. Something," he mumbled. "Thanks, Peter."

_No problem. Bye, Gale. See you on Monday._

"Yeah," Gale replied, turning off his cell phone. "Bye."

Fuck. _New York_? Time was, that Randy would've told him about the audition before anyone else. Did he think he didn't care? That maybe, since that ill-fated pizza kiss, he'd decided that he had better things to do with his time than congratulate Randy on getting an audition?

He thought back to the last real conversation he'd had with his co-star, all those weeks before.

Then he pulled out a bottle of Grey Goose and got fall-down drunk.

On Monday, Gale decided he'd talk to Randy, maybe ask him how the audition went. He waited outside the younger man's trailer, waiting for him to come outside. The door opened. "Hey," he said, as Randy brushed past him and headed across the lot. Shit. "Randy, wait," he said, jogging to catch up. "Will you stop?"

Randy stopped, and Gale ran into him.

"Fuck. Sorry." He wrapped an arm around Randy's waist to steady him, then let go. "Why didn't you tell me you were auditioning in New York?" he asked.

"I didn't think you cared," Randy replied. "We haven't exactly talked in the past three months."

"What are you talking about? Of course I care," Gale sputtered. "I thought we were friends."

"We were." Randy started off toward the soundstage again.

"So what happened?" Gale shouted after him.

Suddenly turning so he walked backward across the lot, Randy said, "You kissed me." Then he straightened his stance, turning back to Gale and walking the remainding distance to the building at a fast pace.

Gale didn't follow.

Instead, he pulled out his cell and called his manager.

_Lance Richardson._

"Lance, this is Gale. Get your ass up to Toronto. Now."

 

They were shooting a scene in which Justin told Brian he loved him. Gale fucked it up _seven_ times before he got it right. Everyone could see the tension rolling off him in waves, so nobody called him on it. When the director finally wrapped the scene, Gale practically sprinted off-set away from Randy. He nearly collided with Hal in the soundstage hallway between the Liberty Diner and Babylon.

"Whoa, careful, Gale," the shorter man said, putting a hand on his friend's arm. "You alright?"

"I'm having a bad year," Gale muttered. "Fuck. I need to get out of here, but my manager will be here in about two hours."

"You look like you could use a beer, or five," Hal said. "Come on. I'm buying."

Gale nodded, and Hal ushered him to the door. "I have to get my coat," he said.

"I'll be right out," Hal replied. He headed toward the diner set, where he knew either Dan or Ron would be present. They were shooting, so he waited for the cut, then walked on set, stopping in front of his bosses. "I'm taking Gale out for a drink. He looks like he's about to go insane," he said.

"Make sure he's alright," Dan said, nodding in assent.

Hal smiled and left. When he got to his car, Gale was leaned against it, smoking a cigarette with his shoulders slumped. "You want to talk about it?"

"I can't," Gale replied. He tossed his cigarette down and got into the car when Hal unlocked the doors. His knees were wedged against the dashboard in the little sports car, and he shoved the seat back as far as it would go.

Hal turned on the car, fiddled with the stereo, and pulled out of his parking space. They listened to about half of Pink Floyd's _The Wall_ before he asked, "Why not?"

"Just can't," Gale insisted. "We're here."

Hal watched as Gale walked into the bar, sat down, and stared at the bar surface. He watched as Gale nursed beer after beer, the crease in his brow seeming to only grow deeper and deeper. He watched as Gale refused to talk. "You know, you're shitty company," he joked.

Gale said nothing.

"You look like someone ran over your puppy, Gale. What's wrong? I'm not going to tell anyone."

Gale shook his head. "I can't talk about it to anyone until my manager gets up here."

"That bad?" Hal took a swig of his beer and set it down. "Well. We've been here for an hour. I should probably get you back to your trailer to greet your manager." He motioned for the bartender and slipped him a large bill. "Thanks, man," he said, shrugging into his coat.

They drove back to the studio faster than they'd driven to the bar. Lance was waiting for Gale when they got back.

Gale walked into his trailer, waiting for Lance to follow. When his manager closed the door, Gale tossed his coat aside, turned to face the other man with a decisive expression on his face, and said, "I want to come out."

"You want to what?" Lance needed a cigarette. "Gale, we've talked about this. Do you know what coming out could do to your career?"

"Fuck that," Gale said. "I'm not _happy_ , Lance. I can't pretend to be straight anymore just to please the viewers."

"Your viewing audience is over fifty percent female," Lance reminded him. "They love you because they see you as a straight guy with no qualms about kissing, or touching, another man. Can't you stick it out until the season finale airs?"

"Please," Gale said, starting to pace, "spare me. Have you _been_ online lately? They love me for playing a gay man. They don't really know me."

"Yes, you're right," Lance said. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered one to Gale, then slipped one between his lips and lit it. "For _playing_ a gay man. It makes you more mysterious, more sexy. They want you, Gale. Let them keep their fantasies until the season ends."

"They want the idea of me," Gale snapped. "They want my body and my face, and that's all."

"The press will be all over you, in case I have to tell you again. They'll demand interviews, wonder why you pretended to be straight for as long as you did." Lance ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

Gale shook his head. "I don't care. I'll handle it."

"Please, Gale. I know you don't like the charade, just please, keep it up until I'm done talks with the producers of that movie I was trying to get you an audition for."

"The TV movie? Fuck you, I'll pass." He paced some more, then stopped in front of Lance. "Give me a fucking cigarette." He lit up, sucked on the filter, and said, "I'm not going to do a TV movie. I'm trying to make something of myself, not throw my career away before it's even started."

Lance exhaled a cloud of smoke. "But don't you see that you might be doing that by coming out of the closet?"

"I'm going to lose him!" Gale roared. "If I haven't already." He stubbed out the cigarette angrily in a nearby ash tray. "I can't not be with him, Lance. I _can't_. So with or without your blessing, I'm going to do this. I just thought I'd let you know before the press did."

"I hope you know what you're doing," Lance said, realizing that Gale wasn't going to budge.

"Set me up some interviews," Gale said.

 

When Randy picked up his copy of _Details_ from the news stand two weeks later, Gale's face was staring up at him. He thought nothing of it -- the show was often featured in gay-interest magazines -- tucking it under his arm and sipping his coffee as he walked back to his building.

He hummed softly to himself as he let himself in and set his coffee on the counter, then draped his coat over a stool at the kitchen island. Then, picking up the styrofoam cup again, he walked into the living room and opened the magazine.

He dropped his cup, splashing coffee all over his legs, the floor, and the couch. The magazine fell to the coffee table, the title of the featured article seemingly mocking him with its bold, black text.

> **Done With Hiding**  
>  _Queer as Folk's_ Gale Harold speaks out about life in the closet, and coming out for love.

Randy's hands were shaking.

No, scratch that, his entire body was shaking. He thought maybe he was hyperventilating, too, and there was a giant fist slowly squeezing his chest, making it hard to breathe or think or stay conscious. He wondered if anyone had ever died from reading a magazine before.

His eyes were closed, he noticed. But if he opened them, the article would be there, the words paired with Gale's face, staring up at him, daring him to doubt him. If he didn't open his eyes, however, he'd be forced to sit with sticky legs and feet and a sticky couch and a sticky floor, feeling the coffee cool and dry on his skin. His eyelids lifted and he moved to get up with the intention to clean himself and his apartment up.

The article stared back at him.

Almost as if he wasn't in control of his own body, he picked up the magazine and began to read. His hands slowed their tremors enough for him to see the words on the page.

It took him ten minutes to realize that he'd been reading the first paragraph over and over again.

> _I first met him a few years ago, when I was getting ready to start a new project. There was an instant attraction, and I like to think it was mutual, but he might tell you differently. At the time, I was still convinced that I was straight. It was when I kissed him for the first time that those preconceptions about my sexuality were thrown out. But my manager thought that it would be a bad idea for me to come out, so even as my feelings deepened and it became more and more difficult to hide who I truly was, I continued to play a part._

That was enough for Randy. He knew Gale. Intimately. He'd seen every inch of the man's body, he'd touched or kissed a large percentage of it. He used to think he knew his mind, too.

That there was another person in Gale's life, someone he _loved_ , had never crossed Randy's mind. The thought made him feel vaguely sick, and the vice around his heart wasn't loosening for anything.

Randy called in sick for work the next day. There was no way he'd be able to shoot a sex scene with Gale after reading the article that had, in the space of a few sentences, shattered his heart.

 

The next afternoon, Thea called Randy. She informed him that he'd better get out of bed and get dressed, because she was coming over and she knew he wasn't really sick. Randy greeted her in sweatpants and a ratty tee-shirt, and Thea briefly looked taken aback at his appearance, before smoothing her surprise into a look of gentle concern.

"Hi, sweetie," she said. "I brought muffins." She walked into the apartment, setting a brown paper bag down on the counter. "So, why weren't you at work today?"

"I wasn't feeling well," Randy said with a little sniff that he hoped sounded more indifferent than depressed.

Thea smiled. "You're lying," she said. "I know you read the article. Aren't you happy?"

Randy padded over to the couch and sat down, drawing one knee up. "I didn't know he was going to write it."

"I think it's remarkable how brave he was," she continued. "To let love dictate his actions, rather than following what his manager suggested." She sat down next to him. "It's almost romantic, really."

He stared at the coffee stain on the floor. "He didn't tell me."

"Maybe he meant it as a surprise," she suggested.

"He doesn't tell me anything anymore," Randy said.

"Oh," Thea said, obviously puzzled. "Oh, Randy, I'm sorry. I could've sworn he was writing about -- "

"Yeah, well he wasn't." Randy's tone clearly said 'drop it', so she did.

"I'm sorry. Will you be in to work tomorrow?" she asked, desperate to change the subject now.

Work was the last place that Randy wanted to be tomorrow. He'd have to undress with Gale, and touch him, and kiss him, and feel him sliding between his legs, knowing the whole time that he was doing it all for real with someone else. "Yeah," he said, because he'd signed a contract, and a job was a job. He hoped he'd get the role in New York at the end of shooting.

 

Randy was going to pretend that nothing had happened, and that he hadn't seen the article in _Details_. He was going to be calm and collected, and slip seamlessly into Justin mode the minute he stepped on set.

That plan flew out the window the minute Gale showed up in Brian's silk robe, looking at him intently.

But Randy was a tenured actor. He'd been doing this since he was little. He could shoot a sex scene without having a nervous breakdown. He'd film the scene and then walk off set, back to his trailer. Then he'd either break something or cry. Maybe both.

It didn't help that everyone in the cast had received a copy of Gale's article. And it certainly didn't help that whenever Randy looked at Gale, he could see another man's hands on him, another man kissing him. He took a few deep breaths and closed his eyes, telling himself that it'd be okay.

Miraculously, he made it through the shoot in one piece. He changed back into his street clothes, fixed his hair, and walked straight past Gale, out of the studio, and into his trailer.

It didn't surprise him in the least when Gale walked in a minute later.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, his eyes on the magazine that'd shown up in his trailer that morning.

"I thought you knew," Gale replied.

"Yeah, you were really outspoken about everything. 'Gee, Randy, by the way, I'm not really straight. I just pretend to be so my manager won't get mad.' Oh yeah, heard you loud and clear." His fingers tightened on the magazine, wrinkling the edges. "Just tell me one thing, and I think I have the right to know, because I was in love with you."

Gale winced at the use of past tense. "What do you want to know?"

"Who is he?"

"What?"

Randy looked up from his wrinkled magazine. "Who is he? Who do I get to hate?"

Gale shook his head and closed his eyes. "It's -- " He cut off. "Do you remember what you told me after I kissed you? You said that you didn't want to be with a guy in the closet."

"I remember," Randy said warily.

Gale laughed in a self-depreciating manner. "And then you weren't talking to me, and I had to find out through _Peter_ that you left on an audition when we had a week off. And I thought -- God, what if he loves someone? What if someone's not me?"

"So we're both idiots, then?"

"Seems like it, doesn't it?" Gale asked. He looked down at his toes. "So, you want to get out of here?"

"Hold on, I have to wallow in self-loathing for a minute." Randy tossed the magazine aside. "Do me a favor?"

Gale met his eyes. "Yeah?"

"Next time you have something to say, tell me before I have to read it in a magazine?" He stood up and walked over to the dark-haired man. "It'd save me some emotional trauma."

 

Randy decided that the best-tasting spot on Gale's body was his inner elbow. It was a little more saltysweet than any other part of him, and he spent a long time licking and sucking on the soft skin there before Gale dragged him back up and kissed him breathless.

"Why didn't we do this about three years sooner?" Gale asked, sliding his hands down Randy's sweat-slick back and grinning from ear to ear. He nipped at the blond's jaw, then pulled his head back.

"Maybe we weren't ready," Randy suggested. He slipped a knee between Gale's and dragged his hips in a circle, the throbbing head of his cock leaving a trail of slippery precome on the dark-haired man's belly. He braced his weight on his forearms and looked down at Gale, smiling. "Anyway, we figured ourselves out." He kissed him and reached between them, trailing his fingers up and down Gale's dick.

"Fuck, Randy..." Gale hissed, arching into the blond's touch.

"I need to be inside you," Randy murmured. "I need to feel you." He closed his hand around Gale's cock and pulled twice. "Please," he whispered against Gale's throat.

"Top drawer of the nighstand," Gale indicated, shifting under Randy.

The blond man fumbled with the drawer, pulling out a new box of condoms and a tube of lube. He opened the box and pulled out a condom, setting it off to the side, then slid his hands over Gale's chest and pinched his nipples, murmuring softly when he cried out.

Gale squirmed when Randy's fingernails scratched over his chest. Now it was his turn to beg. "Please, Randy... want you so much..." he rasped, clutching at the sheets so he wouldn't fly apart.

"Shh," Randy whispered. He picked up the lube and opened it, then squeezed a bit onto his fingers and rubbed them together to warm it. His teeth found Gale's right nipple the same moment that his middle finger slipped inside him to the first knuckle.

The unexpected _pleasurepain_ of Randy's teeth on his sensitive skin caused Gale to heave upward, thrusting down on his finger. He moaned when the blond's digit sank all the way inside.

"Good?" Randy asked, thrusting his finger slowly.

"Yeah," Gale agreed. He raised and lowered his hips in time to Randy's finger's movements. "More?"

Randy nodded and patiently worked a second finger inside, then a third. "Ready?" he asked as he tore open the condom wrapper and rolled the sheath slowly down over his cock, slicking it up with more lube.

Gale nodded again, letting his legs fall apart as widely as they could. He watched Randy watching him. "Randy -- " he gasped as the blond positioned his cock and slowly pushed forward. "Fuck." He closed his eyes and pressed the back of his head into the bed, biting his lip when Randy's cockhead pushed through with a sharp pinch that faded away to a fullness that had never felt this good with anyone.

The blond man leaned down and licked at Gale's lips as he drew the dark-haired man's legs up higher, planting his feet firmly on the bed. He drew back, then pushed forward again, back and forth with a fluid roll-snap of hips and cock. "Open your eyes," he urged on another inward thrust. "Let me see you." He fumbled for the lube and Gale's hand, squeezing some into his palm. "Jack yourself off while I fuck you."

Gale's nostrils flared and he moaned as his eyes fluttered open, his gaze settling on Randy's. He slid his slick palm over the head of his dick, inhaling sharply when another roll-snap sent a wave of pleasure coursing through him. "Do that again," he rasped.

"What, this?" Randy said with a husky laugh, angling his hips and thrusting at Gale's prostate again. His lips parted and his eyes glazed at Gale's breathless moan.

Both men clutched at each other, thrusting together mindlessly as they drove each other closer and closer to coming. Gale knew nothing but Randy's hands and lips and cock. Each moan, each gasp, reverberated in his head, each taste and smell filed itself away in his mind.

"Fuck me," Gale demanded. "Harder. Gonna come." He planted his feet and thrust up against Randy, his fist flying over his cock.

"Do it," Randy said in a low voice. "come all over yourself. I want to see you covered with it. I want to lick it all off you, then make you taste it when I kiss you."

Gale arched helplessly as Randy's words sent him over the edge. He never turned his gaze from the blond's, even as he screamed in climax.

Randy leaned forward and kissed Gale brutally as he thrust in hard, jerking his hips back and forth, groaning into Gale's mouth as his cock pulsed and flooded the condom.

He was too exhausted to lick Gale clean.

 

On Monday morning, Randy and Gale left for the studio on time.

They got to work forty-five minutes late.


End file.
